Thursday, May 7, 2015

To Russian, With Love

I
ask “why?”, not to be nosy but because I love to learn.My DNA is hardwired to seek “the rest of the
story”.

For
the most part, my curiosity’s been a good thing, fed by Mom’s urging to “go
look it up.”Today’s kid would either search
Google or simply wonder why their parent didn’t give them the answer.I LIKED consulting that old encyclopedia of
my youth, which often led to other books. Or unexpected moments of hilarity. Like
the time I used it while babysitting my 5 yr. old brother.There was a photo section on dogs, some of
which made him laugh hysterically.I can
still see him rushing toward Mom, trying to balance that book as he yelled
proudly, “Look Mom!A Chinese Skinless!”
He was pointing to a photo of a Mexican Hairless.

I never once
thought Mom didn’t know the answer to my questions. I’d soon realize she was honing my skills for the
day I flew the coop.

“Go look it
up” also instilled in me there are two sides to every story…although one pundit
claims they're 3 sides: Yours, Mine and the Truth somewhere in the middle.I don’t
like 30 second sound bites which theoretically state the truth.I want
to hear what the other guy has to say too.

Only once did
my “need to know” mentality bite back.It
wasn’t that the individual felt the need to correct me or just plain shut me
up.It was who wanted to muzzle me: a
teacher.

In America,
every generation has grown up with an “enemy”.Just check war movies by generation and it doesn’t take much to figure
it out.Either it’s individuals led by
the likes of Hitler, Ho Chi Minh, Castro, Bin Laden and Saddam Hussein or
specific countries. Sometimes the reason
for being designated a “villain” is clear: say Hitler and the Holocaust.But occasionally, an entire nation gets
painted with the brush of evil thanks to one nutcase.

I never
expected that painter would be my teacher.Or that I’d be singled out as a twelve year old traitor to America.All because I asked “why?”

I don’t
remember the teacher’s name, just the public tongue lashing after, of all
things, an emergency drill.Unlike Fire
Drills, where you marched, single file, out the building to prove you could
keep quiet and remain in a straight line while the building burned, our other
emergency drill was…well, silly.It was mostly
for Tornadoes, but was also to include bombings by “our enemy, the Communists”.There were two versions of this drill.The first was sitting under our desk with a
book held over our head.The second
involved getting on our knees, head against the wall, with a book on our head…which
made us look like a row of weird, midget coffee tables.There was always a boy in class brave enough
to wonder out loud how a stupid book would help if a bomb dropped on us.

Returning to
our seats we were about to start the lesson when a kid asked who the enemy was.

“Russia,”
the teacher replied, eyes rolling in exasperation.

Another kid
wanted to know why them.No, it wasn’t
me.I was painfully shy.The smallest kid in every class, I tried to
blend into the background, not be singled out.

Sensing a
plot to derail his lesson, the teacher spat out that Russians were evil; they
hated us and would drop a bomb on us in a heartbeat.They were not to be trusted and their goal in
life was to kill us.

I was
alarmed.But not by the teacher’s claim
we’d be murdered in our sleep by Nikita Khrushchev’s evil henchmen.To me, a guy named Nikita didn’t sound scary…it
sounded like his mama gave him a girl’s name. What alarmed me was that the
teacher’s answer just didn’t make sense.

Another kid
wanted specifics.How would they get
here to murder us?What would they use to
kill us?Did they have to be mad at us
first?

The teacher
insisted we were hated simply for being American.All. Of. Us. For no reason.

As a kid brought
up on the Golden Rule, that reasoning made no sense.Suddenly I heard my tiny voice whisper, “But
why?They don’t know me.I haven’t done anything to them.How can they hate me? I can’t believe some little Russian kid wants
to die any more than I do.”

If looks
could kill, this story would never have been written.

My innocence
was the proverbial straw and I caught teacher’s wrath.I can still see him seething as he told me, “You
are stupid if you believe the Russians won’t hurt you.Their children want to kill you too.”

Turning a flaming
shade of red (how ironic), I shut up.I
don’t remember if I told my parents or if I was too embarrassed at having been
singled out.The lesson I took home that
day was this: if you aren’t willing to try and understand the other guy, then
no wonder he wants to drop a bomb on your head.I understood Khrushchev wasn’t a
nice man.But I had a hard time
believing every little Russian child wanted me dead.

And so I
grew up, still asking “why?”…though not generally in a group setting. I’ve never outgrown the need to understand why
people behave the way they do. Now, just
because I listen to both sides does not mean I agree with everything said. It’s simply
my way of viewing the whole picture.Just
because Hitler was a failed, tortured artist didn’t give him the right to
torture others.And while I occasionally
wonder about Putin’s motives, I don’t believe the majority of Russian kids want
to be KGB when they grow up.I think
they simply want to grow up.

Today, I
received affirmation that little girl me was right.Russian kids did not grow up with the goal of
sending me to the great beyond ahead of schedule as I slept.Some of them grew up to appreciate the
concept of true freedom.

Nikolay was
one of the soldiers our Foundation recently helped.His last name sounded Russian too, but I didn’t
ask.The photo he sent of himself proudly
holding his bow looked like photos of Russian youth I’ve seen in the past.Stoic,
yet proud.Today I discovered his
hometown is Moscow.And yet he chose to
serve in the U.S. military.According to
his Facebook page, “I’m just a regular guy, whose job is to jump out of planes
and murder enemies of the United States of America in close combat.”

So Nikolay didn’t
grow up to be my enemy…he’s got my back.And when he was injured taking care of me, the Foundation and I were able
to return the favor.Take that Khrushchev
and Teacher Man.It’s comforting to know
Nikolay and I grew up with the common belief that life is all about choice.